Chương 9
Some were merely people doing the wrong thing because they were frightened.
By six, Emily was medically cleared but remained for observation.
Deputy Vega handed the investigation to a county detective because Owen’s death had occurred within county jurisdiction.
Daniel drove home alone.
He had been awake for twenty-seven hours.
The house smelled faintly of coffee from the pot he had forgotten to empty the previous morning.
One of Emily’s shoes was still in the laundry room.
The other had been on her foot when the medical team arrived.
Daniel stood looking at the single shoe for nearly a minute.
Then he picked it up and put it beside its mate in the bedroom.
He did not know why.
He showered.
The water struck his bruised cheek and made him swear.
Afterward he found the spare-room door open.
Owen had slept there six months before his death after breaking up with a girlfriend.
There was still a dent in the wall from where he had tried to carry a dresser upstairs by himself.
Daniel had promised to patch it.
He never had.
He sat on the edge of the guest bed.
His phone showed eighteen unread messages.
His mother had sent three.
CALL ME WHEN YOU WAKE UP.
Then:
Actually call me now.
Then:
Daniel if you are ignoring me I will drive there.
He called.
She answered before the first ring finished.
“What happened?”
“Mom—”
“Emily’s father called me.”
Of course he had.
“What did he say?”
“That Emily is in the hospital and there may be questions about Owen.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
“He called you?”
“Yes. At five in the morning. What is going on?”
Daniel looked at the dent in the wall.
His mother had already buried one son.
He was about to exhume him as someone she had not known.
“Mom, Owen didn’t die from a heart problem.”
Silence.
Daniel swallowed.
“There were drugs involved.”
More silence.
“What kind?”
He told her.
Not everything.
Enough.
She made a sound he had never heard before.
Then she said, “No.”
Daniel waited.
“No,” she repeated.
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
“Mom.”
“He hated needles.”
Daniel almost laughed.
It came out as a breath.
“He did.”
“He wouldn’t.”
Daniel stared at the floor.
“I think he did.”
“You think?”
“There are records.”
“Records can be wrong.”
“Yes.”
“People can lie.”
“Yes.”
“Emily?”
Daniel said nothing.
His mother understood.
“Oh.”
He put his hand over his eyes.
“She knew.”
“How long?”
“Since that night.”
His mother hung up.
Daniel sat holding the phone.
He did not call back.
At nine, he drove to a diner because the house felt hostile.
He ordered eggs and coffee.
When the waitress asked how he wanted his toast, Daniel stared at her.
“Sir?”
“Sorry.”
“Toast?”
“Whatever.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Bold choice.”
“Wheat.”
She walked away.
Daniel almost smiled.
He had forgotten people were allowed to have ordinary mornings.
At the next table, two men in reflective highway vests argued about whether a truck transmission was dying. A toddler dropped a spoon six times. Each time her father picked it up with diminishing enthusiasm.
Daniel drank coffee.
He thought about Owen stealing fentanyl.
He thought about Emily changing a timestamp.
He thought about Richard holding an oxygen mask.
None of those facts canceled the others.
That was the part Daniel could not stand.
At ten seventeen, Lila called.
“Emily wants to know if you’ll bring clothes.”
Daniel looked at his untouched eggs.
“She could’ve texted me.”
“She’s afraid to.”
“That’s not my problem.”
“No.”
Lila waited.
Daniel hated competent people.
“I’ll bring clothes.”
At home he packed sweatpants, a sweater, underwear, socks, her phone charger, and the gray knit cap she wore when her hair annoyed her.
He almost left out the cap.
Then put it in.
He found her purse downstairs.
The police had returned it after taking the prescription bottle.
Inside was a folded receipt from the Denver credit union.
Safe-deposit box 417.
Daniel stared at it.
The brass key rested under his shirt.
At the hospital, Emily was sitting in a chair by the window.
She had color in her face again.
He put the bag on the bed.
“You brought the hat.”
“It was next to the sweater.”
It was not.
Emily did not call him on the lie.
“Thank you.”
Daniel sat.
“The key opens box 417?”
“Yes.”
“Whose name is on it?”
“Mine.”
“Does Richard know?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Does your lawyer?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
They sat without speaking.
Outside, maintenance workers were clearing fallen branches from the hospital entrance.
Emily picked at a loose thread on the blanket.
Daniel watched her.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She looked up.
“Really.”
“I was afraid.”
“For fourteen months?”
“Yes.”
“Every day?”
“Not every day.”
The answer surprised him.
Emily rubbed her thumb against the thread.
“Some days I convinced myself keeping quiet was protecting you. Some days I told myself Owen was already gone and telling you would only destroy what was left. Some days I was angry at him.”
Daniel’s face hardened.
“I know how that sounds.”
“How does it sound?”
“Ugly.”
“Yeah.”
“He put me in that position.”
“He was dying.”
“I know.”
“He was sick.”
“I know.”
“You changed the report.”
“I know.”
She looked at him.
“And sometimes I hated him anyway.”
Daniel stood.
Emily continued before he could speak.
“I hated him for stealing. I hated him for calling me instead of 911. I hated him for making me choose between doing the right thing and protecting everyone I loved. Then I hated myself because none of that mattered once he was on the floor.”
Daniel stared at her.
“That choice wasn’t his.”
“No.”
“You made it.”
“Yes.”
“Richard made it.”
“Yes.”
She did not defend herself.
It made arguing difficult.
Daniel walked to the window.
“I spent a year blaming myself for missing his call.”
Emily froze.
“He called you?”
“Three days before.”
She closed her eyes.
“I didn’t know.”
May you like
“No. You didn’t.”
Daniel turned.
